Impossible Princess
by Metallicafangirl
Summary: Hermione is forced to spend the summer at Hogwarts due to tragic events, and meets Blaise Zabini there, the one boy she never noticed. Will he be able to help her through, or will she drown?
1. Black Day

Alright, I seem to have gone into a Boy!Blaise/Hermione fic-writing frenzy. This is the latest of the crop. I think this will be a long one.  
  
*****'  
  
The Hogwarts train station was bathed in sunlight, making it seem as bright and cheery as a trains station could. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the birds in the trees were singing, and the air smelled of flowers. The sun glittered in the lake surface, and even the Forbidden Forest seemed inviting. All in all, it was one of the warmest and sunniest days of the summer, thus far.  
  
And Hermione Granger hated it.  
  
The sun wasn't supposed to shine like that. The birds weren't supposed to sing. The sky shouldn't be blue; it should be black and stormy. The lake wasn't supposed to glitter like that. Nothing was supposed to be cheerful. Not on a day like this. Not now. Never again.  
  
It was only the end of June, but she had already returned to Hogwarts; she was staying there for the reminder of the summer holidays. Not long ago, she'd left the very same place to go home to her parents, and she'd deemed it one of the best days of her life; Voldemort had been defeated earlier that term, she'd scored highly on the exams, and Harry had finally been discharged from the hospital wing.  
  
Now she returned; deeming this day one of the blackest in her life. She'd come home, only to find that her parents had been killed by renegade Death Eaters, her house destroyed, her belongings scattered and her life in shambles. Not even Crookshanks, whom she'd left at home while visiting over Christmas, had survived. She couldn't remember anything between finding her home like that, and waking up in St Mungo's.  
  
The Healers of the hospital had tried to get her to talk, but she'd studiously ignored them. She allowed them to heal her properly, taking care of her various cuts and bruises, which she'd apparently gained as she tried to dig through the ruins of her house. Healers and Ministry officials had tried to press her for information, but she'd just stared blankly at them, and shook her head; she hadn't spoken a word since the ´incident´.  
  
When she'd been discharged from the hospital, she'd been informed that she would be staying at Hogwarts for the reminder of the summer, and ha been shipped off to Kings Cross. She'd taken the train, and was now standing at the train station at Hogwarts, waiting for someone to come and pick her up, as Dumbledore had promised in his last letter.  
  
"Ms Granger?"  
  
Hermione turned around to face the speaker, but she already knew who it was; there was only one person in the world that had a voice like that; Severus Snape. After six years worth of Potions classes with him, she'd learned all to well to recognize his voice.  
  
He looked just as he always did; black robes buttoned up to his neck, which must be uncomfortably warm on a day like this, and his black hair still hung into his eyes. He didn't wear his usual sneer, though. He looked at her with a neutral expression on his face.  
  
"Are you ready to go?" He asked.  
  
She nodded and picked up her trunk. He nodded, mostly to himself, and showed the way up to the castle. Hermione, who had only ever gotten there by boat or by carriage, didn't know the way, so she just followed him mutely,  
  
*****'  
  
They were nearly at the castle, and still no words had been spoken. She was just about to step through the doors when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye, something in the oak in the middle of the school grounds. She turned to get a better view, and found herself looking at a slim, black-haired boy, who was sitting on one of the higher branches, looking down at the lake.  
  
Snape noticed her turning around, and looked to see what she was looking at. When he spotted the boy for himself, he sighed and shook his head.  
  
"I can't for the life of me understand why he insists on sitting in that damn tree." He muttered, more to himself than to her, "You will be sharing the castle with the professors, Ms Granger, and another student; Blaise Zabini." He indicated the boy.  
  
She looked at him silently, and then nodded, shrugging it off. Sharing the whole castle with only one other student wouldn't make for any complications; it was the professors she was worried about. They were bound to try to talk to her, to comfort her, and she couldn't take that right now; she'd gotten enough of it at the hospital.  
  
Snape was sure not to coddle her though, which she was grateful for, she needed something normal in her world right now. Even if it was her snarky old Potions Master biting her head off verbally, she'd welcome it. At least he'd never pity her.  
  
They entered the castle, and Snape led her to the staffroom. He opened the door, and gestured impatiently for her to enter, when she didn't do so immediately. She stepped inside, and was greeted by a chorus of ´Hello, how are you poor child?´ 's from the professors. She forced a smile, but didn't say anything as Professor McGonagall swooped down on her and hugged her.  
  
She endured all the hugs and all the pitying glances in silence, and sat down next to Dumbledore, staring at the table. She could overhear the professors' whispering to each other, apparently unaware that she could hear them perfectly well.  
  
"Poor child; to lose her parents like that."  
  
"Oh yes, it must be terribly hard on her."  
  
Their concern wasn't unwelcome, but they would never understand; none of them had ever had this happen to them. None of them had come home just to find that their lives had been brutally torn apart. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up into his blue eyes. He gave her a look of understanding, and nodded to the door. She gave him a grateful look and walked out again.  
  
"Where are you going?" McGonagall called after her, but she ignored the calls and kept on walking.  
  
Professor Dumbledore could explain to them, if need be. Besides, they had no business where she was going. She decided she needed to get out of the castle, and walked out on the grounds, down to the lake.  
  
******'  
  
She sat down at the waters' edge, and stared at her reflection. Her normally bushy hair seemed even frizzier now, and it tangled like a crows nest. She had never been very round-faced, but now her cheeks seemed hollow, and her eyes had sunken in, with dark rings around them. Her skin was pale, and her eyes seemed dull, even to herself. Not really anyone's idea of a beautiful face.  
  
She dragged her fingers through the water; it was cold, despite the warmth of the day. She pulled out her hand again, and looked appraisingly at the lake. What if..? No; someone would see her, and they'd come running outside to save her, and then she'd have to explain everything to people who didn't understand. People who would never understand.  
  
The sky was still cloudless, and she stared at until she felt dizzy, from the intense blue colour. She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around her, staring at the lake. Her thoughts drifted like the waves on the water surface.  
  
Everyone seemed so happy, so unlike her. Even Snape seemed happier and more content than he had been. All professors walked around with perpetual smiles on their faces; everyone had someone to talk to. She didn't have anyone; Harry and Ron hadn't returned the letter she sent to them, nor had they written anything to her. She knew it was unreasonable, but she felt betrayed, somehow.  
  
And she didn't want to be reasonable right now. She wanted to scream, cry, claw out her own eyes, curl up in a ball and just die. She wanted her parents back. She wanted her life back.  
  
She sat for many hours by the lake, just thinking. She didn't even notice that dinner was approaching until she saw Hagrid walk across the lawn towards the castle. She got up and dusted herself off. She might as well go back to the castle; they would come and look for her otherwise.  
  
As she walked, she looked over at the Astronomy Tower. It was the highest tower in the whole castle, with a hundred and forty-two steps to the top; she'd counted. She'd heard about people killing themselves by jumping off it; before she had never had any interest in it, but now she found herself wanting to know if it could be done.  
  
She didn't notice the pair of blue eyes that watched her thoughtfully as she trekked across the grounds to the castle. Their owner watched her silently, and then nodded, as if deciding something  
  
*****'  
  
Hermione sat quietly between Dumbledore and Snape, pushing the food around on her plate, taking a bite of it occasionally. The other professors would have attempted conversation with her, had it not been for the fact that she had Blaise sitting directly across from her too. With the Headmaster on one side, and two Slytherins occupying the other two sides, she was safe from any kind of nosy questions.  
  
She was aware of Blaise's eyes on her from time to time. She'd glanced at him as well, but despite his frequent looks, he hadn't attempted to ask her anything, not even whether or not she was capable of handing him the pumpkin juice. He just ate in silence and observed the people around him.  
  
Hermione found herself wondering about him, despite her current disinterest in just about everything. She'd never noticed him, even though he was in her year, and after six years at Hogwarts, she still had troubles remembering what he looked like when he wasn't there.  
  
Now, she had an opportunity to acquaint herself with his features. He had blue eyes, almost the same colour as the Ravenclaw shield, making them slightly darker than the sky. His black hair fell around his face, slightly curled, but not overly so. The shade of his skin spoke of origins that were less than wholly English, which contrasted sharply to the colour of his eyes. His looks weren't striking or overwhelming, but neither was he ugly. Overall, he had a kind of quiet; she couldn't call it beauty, but handsomeness, if that was even a word.  
  
He was a Slytherin, but he didn't act like one; had he been anything like Draco Malfoy, he would already have thrown a few hurtful remarks her way, just for the pleasure of seeing her break down or cry. To be honest, Blaise had never given the slightest indication that he even cared to insult anyone like that, much less her. It was as if he didn't care the slightest about anyone outside himself, and therefore didn't see the use of insulting anyone, yet he seemed to smile when he heard anyone else insulting each other, as if he found the insults funny. Maybe he did.  
  
Suddenly, he looked up at her, and caught her staring. He raised an eyebrow quizzically, but otherwise didn't do anything. She looked back for a moment before looking down at her plate. He shifted in his seat, and stretched his legs, before settling down again. In doing so, he had almost kicked her in the shins; he was extraordinarily tall, standing somewhere near seven feet, but not quite managing to make it that far. The only person presently at Hogwarts who was taller than him was Hagrid, and since he was a half-giant, that didn't count for much. Not even Snape could best Blaise Zabini in height.  
  
It was odd to see him without the Hogwarts school uniform on; he was wearing a grey shirt and what looked to be the wizard-version of jeans. But she shook off her contemplations of Blaise Zabini when the Headmaster asked her something.  
  
"Would you like to be shown to your rooms after dinner? We've decided that opening up the dormitories are a waste of time with only two students here. Mr Zabini can show you." Dumbledore said.  
  
She glanced at Blaise across the table, but he still looked indifferent, and then she nodded slightly. Dumbledore looked as if this was possibly the best thing that had ever happened in his whole life, and went back to his food, talking with McGonagall who sat on his other side.  
  
Hermione pushed the food on her plate around a little more, just for show, before standing up silently. She had expected that she would have some free time before Blaise had to show her to her room, but he stood up just seconds after her, and walked silently out of the Great Hall by her side.  
  
*****'  
  
Blaise seemed to understand that she didn't want to talk, and didn't say anything either, except for a quiet direction or two. She had never really heard him speak before, but now that he did, she found herself liking his voice. It was soft and somehow soothing to listen to, and if she listened closely, she could detect a trace of a foreign accent in it, but she couldn't say more about it than that it wasn't Bulgarian. She'd learned to recognize that one all too well.  
  
After climbing a few staircases, they reached a portrait of a dark haired witch that looked like she was related to Snape, labelled ´Mariana de Lys´. She was currently asleep, but woke up when Blaise cleared his throat. She fixed him with her dark brow eyes, looking every inch as stern as McGonagall. She said something in what sounded like French, and Blaise replied easily.  
  
When he was done talking to the portrait, he turned to Hermione and seemed to wait for something. She raised an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for him to say something, anything that could give her a clue as to what they were waiting for.  
  
"Pardon me; do you not speak French?" He asked after a while.  
  
She shook her head violently, and he sighed, smacking a hand to his forehead.  
  
"I am sorry; I did not realize. She asked for a password. Do you have one? Or should I make one up?" He apologized.  
  
Hermione shrugged helplessly; it was hard to come up with a password when you didn't speak. Blaise seemed to understand, and nodded again, turning back to the portrait. He spoke quickly in French, and the portrait nodded briskly, and swung open. Blaise nodded at her, giving a peculiar not-quite- smile.  
  
"I made your password Diablo. Is that alright?" He asked.  
  
She nodded and stepped inside her room, leaving him outside. The portrait swung shut again, and she could hear him talking to the portrait again. He was nice, in a way; he might have forgotten that not everyone spoke French, but he had been considerate enough to ask her before he changed the password.  
  
She shook off any thoughts of Blaise's niceness and surveyed her rooms. They were, frankly, disgusting. Whoever had gotten the notion that girls liked pink had either gotten an anvil dropped on their heads, or had jumped from the Astronomy Tower and survived. The horrible colour was everywhere. But not for long, if she had anything to say about it.  
  
She pulled out her wand and whispered a few incantations, and the room turned blue. She could speak when she wanted to, but chose not to because people had an annoying habit of trying to console her, whatever she said. Hopefully, they would learn soon and keep their mouths shut.  
  
She sat down on her bed, looked around her newly decorated room, and realized that this would be her last year at Hogwarts; she wouldn't be coming back. This was final. Without return. Nothing left to lose, really.  
  
Hermione buried her face in her hands, and choked on tears that would not fall.  
  
****'  
  
Several hours later, she sat up again, head in her hands, hair falling like a curtain in front of her face. She still hadn't cried; no matter how much she wanted to, and no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't. She kept choking them back, thinking about how her father always told her to keep her chin up and that big girls don't cry. And then she would be right back at biting back tears.  
  
She missed them more than she ever thought possible. They had always been there for her, even when she thought they were being tiresome and annoying, they never gave up. Her biggest regret was that she never told them that she loved them before she went to Hogwarts in sixth year, where she had been forced to stay over the holidays, and not sent any owls to them either, on the grounds that it could be intercepted by Voldemort's followers.  
  
And now they were gone.  
  
The funeral was in a few weeks, but she wasn't sure she was going to make it that far; she wasn't sure she was going to make it till dawn. Losing both her parents in one blow was too much to take, even for her, and despite her being a strong girl, as shown by her various adventures with Ron and Harry, she just couldn't take it. To even imagine a life without her parents was enough to make her want to hurt someone. Knowing that it was the cold hard truth made her want to hurt herself, for being so stupid and so damn oblivious.  
  
Why hadn't she written home earlier? Why hadn't she told them she loved them? Why hadn't she gone straight home from King's Cross instead of stopping at one of her friend's house? If she had been just a few minutes earlier, she might have saved them. And even if she hadn't been able to do that, she would at least have done something more than just stand there with her mouth hanging open.  
  
Resolutely, she grabbed her wand and walked out the door before she had a chance to change her mind. The corridors were pitch black, but a whispered incantation later, the tip of her wand was glowing softly, and she had no trouble finding her way to the Astronomy Tower.  
  
This was it; she regretted not having time to leave a note. Not that they would miss her anyway; they didn't really care. All they cared about was that her mind was being ruined; they cared nothing for her feelings. Or at least, Ron and Harry didn't, and right now they were the only ones who counted in her world. Anyone else was just in the way.  
  
She regretted not getting to know Blaise Zabini better; he seemed like a nice person, but as stated, there was not turning back now; there was nothing to turn back to. And a decision, once made, was not reversible, at least not in Hermione Granger's mind.  
  
The portrait shut behind her with the barest of whispers, and she set off down the corridor, not noticing that the formidable lady in the painting woke up and watched her with concern etched on her face. Slowly, the painting walked out of the frame, setting off down the hall in the opposite direction to the one Hermione was taking. Whoever said portraits were good for nothing had never met Mariana de Lys, and she was going to take the situation into her own hands, since she knew exactly who to talk to.  
  
*****'  
  
Ending notes; alright, not as dark as I would have wanted, but not exactly cheerful either. I'm not used to writing Suicidal!Hermione, but I guess I'll get sued to it. Tune in next time for the second instalment of Impossible Princess. 


	2. Worthy To Say

Finally, I am continuing. I have finally finished The Silent Snake, (yay! Be proud of me *grins*) Now I have time to write this story! Go me! Hmm, now where to start?  
  
****'  
  
It was a nice height, the Astronomy Tower. If one jumped off it, one would definitely splatter quite nicely when one hit the ground. The fact that it was raining for the first time in weeks, creating a few puddles on the flagstones, was a plus as well. Maybe, if she was lucky, the rain would wash away the spattered blood, and maybe even move her body. Then they wouldn't find her for a while.  
  
The wind caught in her clothes, making then flap around her, nearly tripping her as she walked towards the balustrade of the balcony. Soon however, she was sitting with both legs on the other side, just gathering the courage to actually let go. It was harder than she had imagined; she'd thought she could just go up there and jump, but it was much harder than that. Now, she realized how high it was, and how dead she'd really be.  
  
But, she had already made up her mind; she was jumping, if it so took her the whole night. She had to, she just couldn't stand living anymore. Her life had been so perfect, and then it seemed to have turned its back on her and said ´sorry, honey, but you're screwed´ and left her. She smiled a bit at her attempt at humour in a situation like this. If she could just get her already frozen fingers to let go of the rail, it'd all be over.  
  
"Are you sure about doing that?"  
  
The voice startled her so bad, she almost fell off the tower without meaning to. Looking around her, she set eyes on Blaise, who was leaning against the balustrade some ten feet away. He was wearing the same clothes he had during dinner, but he'd thrown his black school cloak over them, and was looking down on the flagstones far below them.  
  
"Doing what?" She asked, voice near a whisper.  
  
It was strange speaking again, after so many days, nay weeks, of silence. Her voice sounded dusty and unused, which it was, and she had a hard time speaking above a whisper. Blaise didn't seem to notice though, but moved his gaze to her.  
  
"Jumping. That's what you were going to do, was it not? The Astronomy Tower is not a usual place to be in the middle of the night unless you have company." He pointed out, never once wavering.  
  
"You're company." She said, still sounding very frail, and for a moment she hated herself.  
  
She wasn't supposed to be frail now. She wasn't supposed to be having this conversation, even. She should have jumped long ago, not waited long enough for some meddlesome Slytherin to come and try to convince her otherwise.  
  
"Well," He chuckled slightly, "how do you know I'm not here to push you off?"  
  
"I don't." She admitted.  
  
"I'm not." He shrugged. "I won't lie and say I just happened to come up here, but I'm not here to commit assisted suicide on you."  
  
"Why then?" She asked, not looking at him.  
  
She was staring down at her feet, and below that, the courtyard. It didn't seem like such a bright idea now. In fact, it seemed rather stupid. She could have died easily by cutting her wrists, or taking poison or hanging herself, but no, she had to do it the hard way, and give herself time to think.  
  
"Well, actually, the portrait in front of your room came and woke me up, complaining that you were off running in the corridors. I thought you'd gone for a walk, and told her to calm down, when she said she'd heard you mumble something about the Astronomy Tower." Blaise stopped for a moment, and smiled slightly, "And seeing as I am the only male or female in the castle near your age, I guessed you weren't up here to meet someone."  
  
That actually made her crack a smile, albeit a small one. She didn't know where the rumour about the Astronomy Tower had started, but in all her years at Hogwarts, she'd never caught someone up there. It seemed it was just some story for the younger students.  
  
"So, are you going to jump?" Blaise asked, looking down at the ground again.  
  
She nodded mutely, not looking at him.  
  
"A shame really." He sighed.  
  
"What is?" Her voice cracked again.  
  
"If you'd jump, it'd be a shame. A mind is a terrible thing to waste, and yours even more so. Besides, did you honestly think no one would care?" He asked, sounding truly curious.  
  
"A mind?" She laughed, her voice cracking and she bit back her tears for the second time that night. "A mind? Of course they'd miss my mind; it's the only thing about me that is even remotely interesting to keep me around for. Not even Harry and Ron, who are supposed to be my friends, care about my feelings or my dreams. All they want is for someone to tell them the right answers and correct their essays. No one would miss me. And if you want me to change my mind, you better have something damn worthy to say."  
  
Silence reigned for a while. Blaise couldn't seem to think of a reply to her statement, which only further proved her theory. But then again, he was a Slytherin, and shouldn't give a damn whether she jumped or not. And despite all that, he was up here anyway, trying to talk her out of it. It was a piece of the puzzle she had yet to figure out.  
  
"I would." He broke the silence.  
  
She didn't answer directly, only gave a broken chuckle, and gripped the rail tightly with her hands, knuckles turning white from the effort.  
  
"You would?" She asked, choking on a sob. "Don't make me laugh; you don't even know me."  
  
"No, I don't, and if you jump, I never will." He told her, taking a step closer. "I'll never know if you're more than just another Gryffindor. Come now, take my hand, and I'll help you over to this side of the rail."  
  
Hermione stared at his outstretched hand doubtfully. How could she be sure he really meant what he said? She couldn't. He might very well push her off the tower and laugh at her. It would be typically Slytherin of him. But then again, up until a few minutes ago, she had really wanted to jump. Now, surprisingly, she found she didn't want to.  
  
Prying her cold finger off the rail, she reached out to take his hand. He caught it and held it tightly, slowly helping her to climb back over the balustrade. As soon as she was standing on the right side again, she began to tremble. She hadn't noticed it, but the rain had slowly soaked through her clothes, and she was freezing.  
  
"See? That wasn't hard was it?" Blaise asked, still holding on to her hand.  
  
She just nodded, weak-kneed, and took a few deep, calming breaths. Blaise took off his cloak and draped it around her shoulders, glancing up at the sky. She just couldn't stop shaking; it must be some sort of delayed reaction.  
  
"We'd better be going; it looks like there's a storm heading this way." He said, and led her towards the door. "And I don't want you to get sick."  
  
*******'  
  
It was confusing really; Hermione reflected in a detached way, that she would end up being talked out of committing suicide by a Slytherin. Of all people, a Slytherin should be the one dancing on her grave, not preventing her from getting one. But Blaise might be different. Or he might not.  
  
He'd walked her back to her room, made her promise not to go walking in the corridors at midnight again, assured the portrait she wouldn't, and had headed off, presumably to sleep. She'd climbed into bed, nearly falling asleep, before realizing she still had his cloak. It was hanging over the back of a chair, right beside the bed, and she could she the Slytherin serpent embroidered on it.  
  
She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, knowing that Blaise wouldn't ask questions about why she had been contemplating suicide. If nothing else, the teachers had already filled him in.  
  
******'  
  
She woke up the next morning with her head throbbing. It seemed standing out in the rain had given her a cold. She climbed out of bed and started looking for her discarded clothes. She'd have to get a Pepper-Up potion from Madame Pomfrey later; the headache was getting rather annoying.  
  
With a nod to the sharp-featured painting, she headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast. She conveniently forgot to take Blaise's cloak with her, and let it hang on her chair instead. If he wanted it back, he could come and ask for it.  
  
Silently, she entered the Great Hall, which was empty but for Blaise himself and Professor McGonagall. Blaise looked up, and gave her a quick half-smile, as McGonagall stood up and embraced her quickly, before excusing herself to go and make lesson plans.  
  
She sat down at the end of the table, and began to eat. Blaise made to attempt to talk to her, for which she was grateful; she might have spoken last night, but she didn't think she was ready to talk to anyone else as of yet. In fact, he was the only one she knew that wouldn't go telling all her secrets to everyone.  
  
Madame Pomfrey came down to get some breakfast, and saw how Hermione was looking. She gave her a Pepper-Up potion after fussing over her a while, and then left for the hospital wing. Feeling slightly better, Hermione continued to eat.  
  
As she finished up her Pumpkin Juice, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around to meet Blaise's gaze, which was no surprise at all, seeing as he was still the only other person in the Hall. What was a wee bit strange though, was that he was holding a Muggle chess-board in his hands.  
  
"Do you want to play?" He asked, indicating the chess-board.  
  
She nodded, and scooted over so he could sit next to her. He quickly set up the pieces, choosing to play the white ones, and began playing. She concentrated on the game, thankful for the distraction it provided. It would get her out of dwelling on her parents, if only for a while.  
  
********'  
  
"..and then Millicent insists that she hasn't stolen the chocolate, which results in Pansy not talking to her for days."  
  
Blaise had been telling her about the sayings and doings of the Slytherin House over the years, doubtlessly to keep her mind off things and probably because he understood that she didn't want to talk. Or maybe he was just in love with the sound of his own voice. Whatever it was, it spared her from having to speak, and she was grateful for it.  
  
The chess game was going well. At the moment, it was in Blaise's favour, but it had been very even until then. Her father had always played chess with her when she was bored, or just plain interested, and she was pretty good at it. Not as good as Ron was at Wizards chess, but good enough.  
  
Neither of them noticed as Professor Snape and Dumbledore entered the Great Hall, discussing something about the upcoming school year, and spotted them sitting there, Blaise still talking about everything he could think of. The Potions Professor and the Headmaster approached silently, but when Blaise spotted them, they didn't sneak anymore.  
  
"Hello there, professors'." He said cheerfully, waving a pawn at them.  
  
"Good morning, Mr Zabini." Dumbledore replied, "How is the game going?"  
  
"Good, good. I'm winning, at the moment at least. She's pretty tough." He gestured to Hermione.  
  
Hermione smiled weakly, and moved a chess piece. Blaise stared at the board for a moment, before tracing a path in the air, lips moving silently, and then he moved a piece himself, leaned back and grinned.  
  
"Check mate." He said.  
  
Hermione scowled at him, but rearranged the pieces quickly, setting the board up for another round. The chess game had been very hard, seeing as her father never had been any good at it, and she'd mastered it pretty soon, so she never had any competition while playing. But there she went again, thinking about her father when she shouldn't have.  
  
Her eyes stung with tears she had yet to shed, and she turned away from the three other occupants of the room as to not look them in the eye, which would doubtlessly set her off crying for real. In doing so, she missed Blaise's concerned look, as well as the one Dumbledore gave her. Snape, however, couldn't care less.  
  
"So, want a rematch?" Blaise ventured, apparently not knowing what else to say.  
  
She shook her head mutely, and stood up, walking past them and out of the hall. Now even Snape seemed confused, but didn't say anything, instead opting to turn on his heels and follow her example.  
  
*******'  
  
Once out on the grounds, curled up under the same tree as Blaise had sat in yesterday, Hermione let her tears fall freely. The tears that had refused to fall last night now returned doubly strong, making her sob helplessly. She didn't even notice Blaise until he sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.  
  
No longer caring what was happening around her or who he was; she flung her arms around him and sobbed into his chest, desperately clinging to him. He silently wrapped another arm around her and held her as she cried. There wasn't much else to do.  
  
The leaves were dripping of the rain that had fallen that night, and every now and then, a cold drop of water would come falling down on the two of them, but it would be ignored and suffered through. Hermione's sobs were the only things to break the silence.  
  
Finally, after what seemed like hours, she sat up straight again, and attempted to dry her tears, feeling quite embarrassed. Blaise said nothing, but handed her a handkerchief, which she accepted, drying up the rest of her tears.  
  
"Better?" He questioned quietly.  
  
"A little." She whispered back.  
  
He leaned back against the tree, still with his arms around her, causing her to lean back with him. She put her head on his chest, simply because she had no other choice, and sighed.  
  
"Tell me about it?" He asked, his voice sending vibrations through his chest.  
  
"You don't know?" She sniffed.  
  
"No. I've guessed some, got some through the professors, but I don't know the whole story. I doubt anyone does but you." He said. "And as far as I know, you haven't talked to anyone. Besides, I want to know what drove you to contemplate suicide."  
  
Taking a deep breath, she collected her memories of the recent events, and began to tell him. The first few words were stumbling and uncertain, coloured by her unused voice, but as she continued, she grew more sure and exact. Blaise sat silently throughout her story, only interrupting to ask her something that he hadn't understood or to get her to repeat some parts. All in all, he was a good listener.  
  
*******'  
  
About an hour later, she was finally done telling him about what had happened when she'd come home. She could remember that day as if it had been burned into her mind, colours standing out so vividly that she felt like she could just reach out and touch them.  
  
When she was done, Blaise was quiet for a long time. So long, in fact, that she feared he had fallen asleep, but was too tired to turn around and look. Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around tightly, hugging her to his chest. Bewildered, she hugged him back.  
  
"What was that for?" She asked after he pulled back slightly.  
  
"You were sad, seeing as you were crying, and I thought you needed a hug. Besides, my mother always hugs me when I'm feeling down, no matter how much I despise it. So it seemed like a good idea." He shrugged a bit awkwardly.  
  
Hermione blinked. How had he gone from being Slytherin to being a worthy member of Hufflepuff in just under an hour? Slytherins were supposed to be too ambitious to care about anyone but themselves, and here he was, hugging her because he wanted her to feel better. Something wasn't right. Or rather, something was too right.  
  
He was being nice without a reason, and even when she'd met people who were nice without a reason, they had some sort of cause to be nice, whether they knew it or not. Blaise didn't. All he had was an opportunity to get blackmail fodder. Either he had been redeemed from Slytherin evil, or he had some master plan to blackmail and humiliate her.  
  
Her disbelief must have showed on her face, because Blaise raised and eyebrow and smiled slightly. He leaned back even further, resting his head against the tree, watching her, one lock of his black hair hanging down over one eye.  
  
"What is it?" He asked curiously.  
  
"Why are you doing this? Why are you so nice to me?" Hermione blurted.  
  
"Do I need a reason?" He inquired.  
  
"Yes!" She exploded, the confusion she'd felt since she came finally shining through, "Yes you need a reason! You just can't be nice to me, not if you don't want anything from me! You're not supposed to even stand me; you're supposed to hate me, I'm supposed to hate you, and that is all there is to it!"  
  
Blaise blinked. He clearly wasn't expecting that outburst. Hermione sat back on her heels and closed her eyes for a moment, calming herself down again, before glaring at him, demanding to know what happened and why.  
  
"Why should I hate you?" He asked slowly, as if only now realizing that maybe he should, "I have no reason to do that either. I am nice to you because right now, I being nasty wouldn't exactly improve your emotional stability. And as much as I enjoy plucking you off the Astronomy Tower, I rather not have rabid paintings wake me up every night."  
  
Hermione was just about to open her mouth and point out that he did have a reason if that was the case, but Blaise continued before she had a chance to say something.  
  
"And I wouldn't call that a reason at all. Sure, I do not like getting my sleep disturbed, but hell; maybe I just want to be nice to you. Maybe I want to be a friend of yours. Ever thought about that?" He was sounding angry now.  
  
"But Malfoy -"She started, and immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say.  
  
"Malfoy? He has nothing to do with this! And now you, of all people, are judging all Slytherins by how Draco Malfoy acts and who he is! Well, it's time to open those damn eyes of your and use them, because I'm not like him. I've never been, and I never will be!" He glared at her.  
  
Hermione felt her throat tighten, and even though she'd just cried, she felt like doing so again. He had a point, a damn good one at that, but the shock of him shouting at her like he had was too much. She flung her arms around him again, tears streaming down her face, shocking him enough to wrap his arms around her waist.  
  
"I'm sorry," She choked out, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm so sorry."  
  
It was the only thing she could get out. Anything more coherent seemed as incomprehensible as Japanese spoken backwards at high speed. Blaise just patted her back, accepting her endless stream of apologies without a word. He had already said what he thought was worthy to say.  
  
When she finally calmed down again, he pulled away slightly, smiled at her, and stuck out his hand. She looked at him, but took it hesitantly and shook it. Then, he grinned even wider, and sat up straight.  
  
"Friends?" He asked.  
  
"If you think you can stand me." She smiled weakly back.  
  
"Don't worry, I will." He smiled and stood, helping her up as well.  
  
They walked back to the castle silently, each lost in thoughts. Maybe a friend would help her get through. Maybe it would somehow be easier. He knew what was going on, and he would keep his mouth shut about it if she asked him to. The fact that he was the saner part of her at the moment wasn't so bad either.  
  
*******'  
  
Ending Notes; and there it is. I seem to have gotten some writing craze (or a handful of plot-bunnies. Either way) because I've got these great ideas for another Blaise-centric fic. Or rather, a trilogy of Slytherin-centric fics, with Blaise as the main character. I like him *grins* I'll see what will come of it. Until the next chapter, good bye. 


End file.
